


SIRUN ‘AJNABIUN// THE FOREIGNER’S SECRET

by kkruml



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon, The Mummy (1999)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:38:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkruml/pseuds/kkruml
Summary: 1920s- Claire and Uncle Lamb are on an archeological dig in Egypt alongside a competing camp- led by a mysterious red-headed Scot- in hopes of uncovering a long hidden secret treasure.Originally posted on Tumblr as a response to a prompt: ‘What’s a lass like you doing out here on a night like this?’





	1. Chapter1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a mix of research on actual ancient Egyptian lore and pure fiction to help meld the two universes. Please enjoy for the entertainment that it (hopefully) is! :)

It was hot, a dry heat that cracked the skin and created mirages against the packed sand. She felt the remnants of a day’s dig locked in her curls, a bird’s nest of curls tinged with the red of the sand.

“Keep going, I know we’re close,” her tone was more forceful than she intended.

His brow was thick with perspiration, but he caught her tone and nodded slightly. He was tired, she could tell by the slouching of his shoulders and the labored breathing. But they had chased this lead for two years- and they were close. _She knew it_.

“Just a bit more, bunny, and then I think we’ll lose the light,” one hand reached for his forehead as he took a deep breath in, then out.

“Yes… just a bit,” she eyed his chest as it heaved and he grabbed for his tools. “I can finish this section, why don’t you check the water pails?”

While he was fit for his age, she was worried about Uncle Lamb in the heat. He had taken her on digs since she was a child, raising her amongst the legends and myths of ancient civilizations now reduced to dust.

A childless parent had met his match with the orphan born of a car accident. He had lost his sister and brother-in-law in one dark, rainy London night. His niece had become his stray to look after. A little girl brought up on stories of fairytales and quests for buried treasure, she had reveled in the unknown. She had sought new adventures in ancient dig sites as most children played games in their yards.

But now, Uncle Lamb lingered behind while she led the charge. Women had just earned the right to vote a short five years earlier in England, but perceptions held strong that women were better off listening rather than speaking.

_Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. It was 1923- If grown men could dig in the dirt for a living then so could she <.i>._

__

__

Their research had led them from the Valley of the Kings, with sixty-three burial chambers and several promising artifacts, all the way to Cairo. They had traveled on the Nile, her memory floating to the story of Osiris and his brother Set’s trickery that ended in his burial along this river.

 _She would not be so easily fooled. No- she was an archaeologist. She was methodical in her research. She did not allow herself to become distracted. There was no room for mistakes. A female leading an expedition was all but unheard of; she needed to better than everyone else. She needed to be the best_.

And she was.

“Claire,” His voice was heavy as he tried to hide his disappointment, “We’ve lost the sun.”

“I don’t understand,” she felt her brows crease as she surveyed the site. “We followed the text to the letter- it was supposed to be right here.” _A face foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes_. This statue was foreign, chiseled in a different style completely.

 _This is where it was supposed to be buried_.

Behind her, some one hundred meters away she heard a deep hum of voices that crescendo’ d in loud cheering. She had been a step ahead of them for the last two weeks. But their leader, Dougal McKenzie, had had just hired a new guide- there were whispers he was a nephew, brought in to quicken the search. The mysterious new challenger had been to this site before, and more than that he seemed to translate the ancient script as well as she did- _almost_ as well, she corrected.

She hadn’t met this new annoyance but had seen his handiwork in the competing camp. Knots were neatly tied as they created grids for excavation. He had implemented a significant improvement in process that expedited their progress at a pace that was both aggravating and impressive at the same time. Her eyes had not met his but she caught glimpses of his stature- straight shoulders and fiery red hair-standing at least a full head above the rest of his camp.

“Bloody _Scots_.”

She unceremoniously dropped her tools, reaching into her pack. Her hands searched for the narrow glass neck of the Glenlivet bottle as her eyes scanned the landscape. The other camp was just settling in, the lights from their lanterns dotting the horizon. Her eyes followed the glow and found a small patch of darkness, a cove between statues.

 _That’ll do nicely_.

___________

The last of the light slowly faded into the horizon as she popped the cork from the bottle and took along pull, enjoying the tingle of the liquid as it trickled down her throat. She set about starting a fire, small and compact, just enough to warm her as the desert chill crept in.

All those hours, weeks, months. She was so sure they were in the right spot. But they had come up empty. The other camp- that _bloody_ Scot- had found some clue she had overlooked. They had discovered something at the base of the statue of Thoth- God of the moon.

Her hands sunk into her curls as she rested her elbows on her knees, fingers slowly massaging her scalp as she shook her head.

_Thoth._

__

__

Foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes- his back facing the sun- facing away from the eyes of Horus- the Pharaoh himself.

How did he end up at the right site and her in a mound of empty sand?

 _What had he found that she had missed_?

She took another long swig, watching as the moonlight glistened off the bottle, with small trails of whisky dripping down the bottleneck. Small flashes of gold dotted each droplet, growing larger. She squinted, focusing on the liquid embers as her head cocked, trying to find its origin. She heard footsteps grow near, steady and sure.

“Ye shouldna be this far from camp, lass.” His voice was deep and smooth, the lilt of his voice catching the last word.

Her eyes rolled as she let out a small laugh, feeling the humorless edge to the sound as she blinked slowly. She raised one hand in the direction of the voice, waving off the intruder.

“Are ye alright?” His voice was a mix of mild concern and amusement. Her ears caught his tone as she felt the vibration of his voice creep under her skin.

Her gaze traveled up from the flicker of fire to take in the form in front of her. Long, lean legs set in a ready stance- his linen shirt was wrinkled, slightly stretched with the exertion of the day. A brown leather jacket encompassed his shoulders, muscles pressed against the material, auburn red curls grazing his collar. The glow from his torch traced the lines of his cheekbones, a deep curve from nose to his cat-like eyes. Dark blue and tranquil, they flickered from her face to the bottle and back again.

She shifted her eyes back to the fire, clearing her throat as she set the bottle down.

“Managing just fine on my own, _thank ye very much_.” Her tone fell short of a true Scottish lilt and he laughed.

“Oh _aye_ \- I can gather that much by the look of ye.” The humor in his voice was tangible.

Her eyes shot up to him as she responded with “Pffft.” And a hiccup followed.

“May I join ye?” He didn’t wait for her response as he stepped closer to the fire, kneeling down next to her.

She felt the heat intensify, rolling her eyes as she shifted her weight slightly, making room for him.

“Jamie Fraser,” he said as he reached out his hand.

One eyebrow cocked as she stared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, taking in his intentions. She blinked twice and exhaled as she extended her hand to him in return. “Claire- Claire Beauchamp.”

The heat pulsed through her fingertips and up into her chest. He held her gaze, his eyes piercing into hers as his grip tightened slightly. She quickly pulled her hand back, feigning disinterest. He smiled as a small laugh emanated from his throat.

“Is that whisky there?” His eyes shifted to the bottle, his fingers twitching as he resisted reaching for it. “Been a long day, can ye spare a wee nip?”

She eyed the remnants as it glowed in the firelight, taking a swig before she passed him the bottle- her eyes following the amber liquid as it reached his lips. His eyes flickered to her face as he handed it back, and without breaking his gaze she took a sip directly from the spot his lips had touched.

“So-” He cleared his throat as a small smile crept onto his face. “What’s a lass like you doing out here on a night like this?”

“Oh!” She spit out indignantly as she stood up, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

He startled slightly at her outburst, his eyes widened as he took in her full form. Curls slipped loose from their nest atop her head as her eyes glimmered a fierce amber, he traced the line of her neck-ivory against the dark of night. His eyes traveled to her breeche, the curve of her hips evident against the firelight.

“So I’m just a helpless _lass_ out for a nightly stroll, am I? I can’t _possibly_ be an explorer like the barbarians you have in your camp then, can I?” She set her hips to one side and crossing her arms in front of her. “I may not have the pedigree of your _fine kinsmen_ but I assure you I am just as qualified…” she paused as another hiccup escaped her lips.

His smile grew into a grin as a laugh erupted from his chest.

She took a deep breath before she set her shoulders and continued, “I am QUITE qualified to be here, _Mr. Fraser_.”

He put two hands up in mock defeat, “Aye, I dinna doubt ye, Sassenach.”

 _Sassenach_.

She had heard the word countless times during this dig by the native workers- _‘ajnabi. Foreigner_. A British woman traveling around the world in a man’s profession, she had heard every insult one could muster. Though somehow, the way his voice wrapped around the sound, it felt personal, cherished even. Her eyes pierced his, her jaw tight as she fought to keep her thoughts under control.“

I beg yer pardon, Claire.” He stared back, his eyes wide and honest. “I meant no disrespect, lass.”

_Thoth._

__

__

But… what if. It… wasn’t.

Isis.

A woman.

 _An outlander_.

Who else could be more foreign than a woman guarding this kind of secret?

Bembridge scholars had confirmed it referred to Thoth- born from the heart of Ra and the left eye of Horus. He was the God of many things- most notably the moon, but also secrets. There was just enough discrepancy in the translation where… _it just might be possible_.

Her upper lip curled as she exhaled in relief.

 _All hope was not lost_.

She stood, taking two steps into the darkness as his voice crept into her thoughts.

“Where are ye off to?” His voice held trances of concern as his brows creased.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder as she grinned, “To find buried treasure.”

His eyes lingered long after her silhouette disappeared into the darkness.

 _Buried treasure. Aye. She was_.


	2. Chapter 2

“That’s an interesting theory, Claire,” her uncle mused. As always, Uncle Lamb was open to listening, re-evaluating the evidence.

She stood straighter, a smile forming as she nodded her head. She had presented her case, added valid adjustments and had meticulously lobbied her points. Here, she was one of the crew, another worthy contributor of theory and revelations.

“Yes darling, quite.” Frank’s words passed muster and Uncle Lamb shifted back to his reading. She, however, knew better. Under his British formality, there was a hint of intimacy in his voice as he said darling. He was a fine companion, to be sure, but she wasn’t ready to hear that or consider the inevitability-as he had put it- that they would end up together.

Everything about him was impeccable- dark hair combed and precisely parted down one side, a three-piece suit despite the desert sun, University- educated, and an expansive vocabulary to match. Any woman would consider him a catch.

She cocked her head to the side, sizing up his shoulders- comparing what she saw with the expanse of the brown leather jacket, broad shoulders and mass of red curls from the night before. Muffled voices outside the tent shook her from her thoughts.

The door flap swung open and a dust-clad worker entered the tent- a makeshift headquarters of sorts during their dig.

“Beg pardon, Miss Beauchamp but there’s- uh… someone here from the Scottish clan. Said he’d like a moment with the camp’s leader- said it’s of ‘utmost importance’.”

Her mind flashed to the night before, the firelight dancing across his cheekbones and warmth of his lips lingering on the whisky bottle. She cleared her throat and nodded. “Thank you, George. I’ll be right out.”

She lifted the flap to see a tall figure, an impressive stance-slightly familiar, bald with an impressive beard, laced with gray. His britches held the faint pattern of tartan, faded by the sun and peppered with the near-constant dust that surrounded the camp.

“Oh, I was expecting someone else.” She was surprised to find herself disappointed.

Dougal laughed as he countered, “Aye- so was I. I’m looking for Lambert Beauchamp, as I’ve a proposition to make.”

“Oh?” A smile played at her lips but she cleared her throat in an effort to straighten her face. This was always her favorite part. “And just why would you want to speak to Lambert? I’m the head archaeologist on this dig.”

“Oh, beg yer pardon, lass. I dinna ken.” He cocked his head, taking in the unusual sight of a woman in breeks. He was not prepared to barter with a woman, and not one quite so young. He looked around but no one contradicted her or raised their voice in objection. A smile of his own ghosted his lip.

If a woman is in charge, perhaps I’ll get more out of this than expected.

“I’m Dougal MacKenzie- head of the camp across the way, and this is our chief archaeologist, Ned Gowan.” His hand gestured to a stately gentleman on his left, lines carved deep into pale skin, slightly blistered by the intense heat. He nodded to Claire, kind eyes meeting inquisitive amber.

“As ye may know, we had success in the excavation at the base of Thoth.” He paused, reveling in the memory of their good fortune for a moment before he continued, “But the workers have come down with a mysterious illness.”

An ancient booby trap of some kind, no doubt.

“Yes, well I’m sorry to hear that but I don’t see what that has to do with us.” One eyebrow arched as her arms crossed in front of her.

The smile reappeared as his eyes glimmered- like a tom cat sizing up his prey. “I had a look at yer equipment- looks more antiquated than the ruins themselves.”

Bloody Scot.

Her eyes glanced over his shoulder to see their excavation rigs, well-used and often-repaired; they had indeed served their purpose as far back as she could remember. It was only a matter of time before a broken part was too impossible to repair.

“Ye have the workers, we have the equipment. What say ye to joinin’ forces- increase both our chances of finding the gold, aye?”

He had a point. Blast him for it. 

“Let’s say we do, what’s in it for us?” She kept her voice calm, steady, focused.

“Oh lass, for yer trouble, yer workers, we’d gladly grant ye 25% of any treasure unearthed.”

A humorless laugh escaped her lips, one she barely tried to mask. He was right that he had the equipment, but she had an ace up her sleeve, a card yet to play.

She had been on digs her whole life, picked up tricks and remedies from around the world. She was self-sufficient and had kept countless expeditions in good health despite challenging climates and rampant local diseases. She had an inkling of the workers’ illness and was willing to wager on it.

“What if I healed your workers?” Her gaze was steady and sure, a self-confidence creeping into her voice. “That doubles the workforce and speeds up the operation… or would you rather let them wither away and die out here in the desert sun?”

“You?” He eyes her incredulously.

“You, sir,” she was struggling to keep her voice contained, “are in need of a healer- a Beaton. We are 150 kilometers from the nearest city. If you have men in need of healing, you don’t have many options. If you did, you would not be standing here.”

From his pause, she guessed he was contemplating the potential reward as much as the lives as stake. A small head nod and he held out his hand, “Ye heal my workers, ye get 50%.”

Her stare matched his, with a coy smile she countered, “60%. And we have a deal.”

His face went blank; he blinked and shook his head slightly. She had him at a disadvantage, and he fought to hide his acknowledgement. A wee Sassenach lassie had bested him at his own game.

His voice was controlled, clipped, with traces of doubt. “Aye, 60%.”

As Dougal turned to leave, she caught a glimpse of fiery red hair behind him- near the horses. The same deep blue eyes that had danced in firelight the night before stared back at her.

She stood still, taking in his form- the brown jacket well-worn and molded to his muscular frame, and felt heat form on her cheeks. He was standing near the horse corral, one mare hovering close. His hand circled against her neck, she could see a slight movement of his lips, he seemed to be whispering something- keeping it calm. Her eyes followed his movements and felt her breath slow and muscles ease despite the long day. A smile crept across his face and she stood transfixed. His eyes stayed on her while he stepped towards her.

A faint sound came from behind her to break their trance; he stopped in his tracks, watching the dark haired figure lean into her.

“Claire- darling. I’ve got some text here for you to decipher…” Frank’s voice buzzed in her ears as she struggled to draw her eyes away from him. Frank paused for a moment, his face flickering to the broad-shouldered stranger at the stables and traced his eyes back towards Claire. One hand reached for her and she stiffened.

In an instant, auburn brows creased, a look of confusion flashed across his face before his eyes turned a stormy grey, taking in Frank’s arm around her waist.

Clearing her throat, she stepped out of his embrace, the movement subtle but distinct. Tearing her gaze from his, she turned towards Frank. “Alright, let’s see it,” she held out her hand, waiting for the script as her eyes flashed back towards the stable, red curls now gone from sight.

____________

“Where are the sick being held?”

She glanced at the row of tents as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

“Over here,” Roger said, pointing to the farthest cluster of canvas.

There were a dozen cots, lined neatly and filled with withered and worn workers. She gave each worker her full attention, slowly evaluating each soul- checking their pulse, evaluating the whites of their eyes and spoke in a slow, calm tone.

From ancient text, she knew that Egyptians would protect their greatest secrets with booby traps- including pressurized salt dust- when inhaled it created a poison-like effect.

The workers had textbook symptoms- they were confused and declined food; through labored breathing they expressed intense nausea while displaying an all-encompassing weakness.

Acacia. Jasmine. Papryus. There was just enough left- preserved. Fresh water- and lots of it.

“Can ye heal them, then?” His voice was soft but distant, speaking low as to now wake the workers.

She turned to see his blue eyes watching her, a respectable distance but close enough to aid if needed. His shoulders were tense, alert. Her eyes trailed the line from his shoulder down to his bicep. A worn linen shirt was rolled up to his forearm, taught muscles glistening with a light film of sweat.

“I think,” she brought her gaze back to the patient as she stood, stepping back slowly from the last cot, “the concoction will work, but we will need to work fast.”

“Aye. Can I help?” His voice was closer, and she turned to see him, now just inches away from her. His face was honest and eager.

“Yes,” she paused, steadying herself with his nearness. “I’ll just need to procure a few things from my medical bag.”

He shook his head as his voice held traces of a smile, “Figures.”

Her head tilted, a small laugh escaping her lips. “What’s that?”

“It takes a lass to show the way,” his mouth curled into a half smile as his eyes rested on her face.

Her breath hitched as their eyes met, a hit of a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she nodded.

You’re too quick by half, lad.

“So-“ he said, shifting the conversation. “Have ye always been a healer?”

“I’m not sure I’d call myself that, I’m an archaeologist who… happens to know a thing or two about healing.”

“Mmmph,” was all she heard as she registered a warm sound from his chest. He smiled at her as they lingered, inches from each other.

“So what’s this about a new theory ye have?” He held her gaze, waiting.

She was caught off guard, not expecting him to ask, but rather to seek counsel from Dougal regarding the next step.

“Oh… well. The hieroglyphics stated A face foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes,” She started slowly, trying to piece together her thoughts.

“Aye- Bembridge confirmed it was Thoth.”

“Err.. yes. But there’s more than one way to interpret foreign.” She paused, taking a step towards the exit. She had more to say, but not in the company of these poor workers.

“You said something to me the other night that got me thinking, and then seeing the acid dust at the base of Thoth, well… it confirmed to me that we were meant to think we were looking for Thoth. To protect the real secret.”

“And what was that?” He took a step closer.

“The secret?” She tilted her head, a tone of humor creeping into the question.

“No, what I said to ye.” His eyes locked on her as he waited.

“Oh… that,” she looked down at her feet, a light cover of dust already evident on her feet as a steady breeze blew through camp. “The other night you… you called me something.”

A genuine smile encompassed his face, “Sassenach.”

“Yes,” she could feel the heat on her cheeks, and prayed it was from the sun beating down from above. “Well, it made me think-”

“Aye?” Another step closer, his head dipped low, watching her.

“Maybe the foreigner was a woman.”

He stopped in his tracks, “A Dhia, Isis. Yer a genius, Claire!”

Before she could respond his lips were on hers, his hand encompassed by her unruly curls.

“Am I interrupting?” His voice cut through the pulse between them and she pulled back, seeing thin shoulders and dark hair, immaculately parted standing behind Jamie. “I thought you might need your medical bag, to tend to the patients.”

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

_Think this through, Beauchamp._

Thoth is to the left.

Her statue, once mistaken as the key to the secret, is to the right.

_A face foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes._

There’s something missing.

_You can do this._

She closed her eyes, trying to see the text. She had memorized it and repeated it to herself countless times, having been questioned by countless men- doubted. The hieroglyphics were all but written on her own skin for how well she could recite from memory. The words were just coming into focus-

“ _Claire_.” His voice was thin, curt. He had been distant since he saw her kiss with Jamie. He now spoke to her only when strictly necessary, and always only regarding the expedition.

She opened her eyes, seeing Frank’s face as the hieroglyphics faded from view. He was holding a stack of papers in his hands.

“I’ll be right there.” She sighed as she dusted her hands against her britches.

Entering the tent, she caught a look from Uncle Lamb- his brows were creased, his arms crossed in from of him as he watched her. Whatever Frank had to show her, he wasn’t in agreement.

“Look at this translation, the extended text regarding Osiris looks wrong.” His voice sounded flat, professional, but slightly annoyed.

“Wait- is this the theory of Anubis… from the Book of the Dead? We’ve looked at this before, haven’t we?” She reached for the paper, eyes expectant.

If this was the question of the hieroglyphics and the missing ceremony before burial, she knew they had already deliberated ad nauseam over the discrepancies. Frank was wrong, and she had a feeling he knew it. That wasn’t the point of his challenge- he wanted to make the dig difficult for her, no longer giving the benefit of doubt she had fought hard for and earned many times over.

“Yes, but a second look shows that it could rule out the correct statue as _Isis_.” His voice hissed out the last word.

Uncle Lamb shook his head, rolling his eyes as he interjected, “With all due respect Frank, We’ve been over this. _Many times_.”

She lifted her gaze from the papers to her Uncle, shaking her head and holding up her hand to stop him. “It’s ok Uncle. Frank here wants an explanation.”

Her tone was clipped but she maintained her composure as she tossed the papers onto the table, setting her weight to one side and placing her hands on her hips.

“The reason this translation is wrong, is because the Book specifically states that the burial was at Hamunaptra- we are 50 kilometers from there. The text was also dated as at least 300 years later than what Jam-… what’s been found here, on this dig.” She paused, letting her words settle before she squared her shoulders and finished, “I am the head of this dig and we will stay here until I am _satisfied_ that we have exhausted all our options.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed, saying just loud enough for her to hear, “ _Doubt you’ll ever be satisfied_.”

Her head cocked and a humorless smile spread across her face, a barely contained scoff escaped her lips as she shook her head.

“Sassenach!” Jamie’s voice broke the tension between them as he entered the tent. “Sas-Claire,” he stopped short, seeing Frank and Uncle Lamb staring back.

She turned instinctively towards him, her eyes scanning his form for signs of injury. “Jamie, what is it?”

“I found somethin’. At the base of the statue. Come quick!” Just as a whirling dervish, he spun around and was out of sight in the blink of an eye.

Claire took a long stride to follow, but she turned to take one final look at Frank before walking out.

_Well- that settles that, then._

____________

“What do ye reckon it is, Sassenach?” His eyes watched her hands as they carefully extracted the polished stone from the statue.

“I’m not quite sure, yet. “ Her tone was carefully controlled, but she felt her heart beating in her ears and adrenaline was pulsing through her veins. “There’s something here about Seth, I think.”

“Seth- as in the God who fought Ra?” He leaned in closer, his eyes flickering from her face to the text and back again.

“Yes… although this text looks to contradict that… or at the very least mention an alliance of sorts. Seth was known for darkness; and Ra for the sun… or _light_.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to connect the information. “How did you find this, again?”

“I kept thinkin’ about what ye said… the other day,” a faint blush formed on his cheeks as he cleared his throat. “That the key was it bein’ a woman. I was circlin’ this statue, cursin’ at it for being wrong, searchin’ for _anything_ out of place… and then the sun flashed across this spot and I caught the change in surface. The rest of the statue is rough- this was smooth,” one hand reached for the tablet while he watched her study the text.

She smiled and her hand passed over the ancient symbols chiseled into the stone.

His hand shifted and touched hers; her breath caught slightly as she inhaled sharply. His skin was warm and firm and she caught the faint smell of aftershave as the wind fluttered around them. She finally let out the breath she was holding as she blinked hard, dropping her hand as she passed the tablet back to him. She pulled her eyes to the horizon in an attempt to clear her thoughts.

His eyes followed hers and they settled on an insignificant point in the distance; two fingers drummed against the tablet as he took a deep breath.

“I uh… I have something- for ye.” His body twisted as one large hand reached behind him.

“Oh?” Her voice sounded almost foreign to her ears, and her face twisted to match the question as she turned to face him.

“Aye. I _borrowed_ it off of one of the workers…” he pulled out a small, wrapped parcel from his sack and handed it to her. “Thought ye might like it- _might need it_.”

She stared at the package, wrapped neatly in cloth that looked suspiciously like a freshly washed linen shirt.

“T-Thank you.” She took the bundle with both hands, her fingers deftly untying the twine that kept it together and as she unwound the material, she gasped. “A medical kit- _Jamie_!”

His smile widened as he heard the joy in her voice as she said his name. He watched as she quickly lowered herself to the ground, unrolling the bundle to inspect and examine each tool. He knelt beside her, eying each instrument as her delicate fingers turned each object for inspection.

“Ye have an eye for healin’, thought ye could use it, is all,” his voice was low and soft, not risking a blink as he settled in beside her.

_An eye for healing._

She blushed at the compliment and then she froze. Her fingers pressed into the tablet in her hands as the ancient text flashed before her eyes.

_Eyes._

_Horus. Son of Isis. Two eyes._

_The left eye- Thoth. God of the moon._

_The right eye- Ra. God of the sun._

_God of sun. Light._

“Jamie!” Her voice was brimming with excitement.

“What is it Sassenach?”

“I’ve got it- the missing piece- it’s the eyes!” She looked directly into his face, seeing confusion, deep thought and then a spark of recognition.

“A Dhia! It must be- we had it all wrong. We were searching to the west of Thoth, away from the sun. We need to dig to the east- _towards_ Ra- the sun!” He shook his head in wonderment as he matched Claire’s smile.

“We were so close! It’s a bloody good thing we both got the text wrong, as it led us here!” Her voice was incredulous as her hand instinctively reached for his knee, feeling the muscle of his thigh contract. His eyes darted to her touch, and he took a shallow breath before closing his hand around hers, squeezing it gently.

“Sorcha,” he said it as a whisper but she caught his gaze.

“What does that mean?” Her eyebrows creased as her eyes focusing on their hands intertwined, clearing her throat before carefully shifting to stand.

He took a deep breath, hands pushing against his knees as he stood to match her. “It means _light_.”

“Sorcha?” She turned the word over in her mind, hearing the Gaelic word sound foreign and familiar all in one moment. 

He finished her thought with a smile, “that’s what we’ve been waiting for.”

A smiled spread across his face as he turned back towards the horizon for one last look at the evening glow against the sand.

_What we’ve been waiting for._

_What he’s been waiting for._

_Sorcha._

_Yes she is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Violence and Character Death.

They had moved in tandem, fingers lightly grazing the tablet as they tried to make sense of the script. The light of the fire had created shadows that danced along the uneven surface.

As the desert chill crept into the night, Claire found herself inched closer to his large frame, the heat of the whisky and fire settling into her bones, and her head found his shoulder. As she drifted into a contented slumber, she thought she caught the sound of soft Gaelic humming in the chest upon which she rested.

____________

She woke just past dawn to a dry throat and her cheek pressed against a pliable bundle of smooth material. She slowly opened one eye to see she was alone, the embers of the fire long since burned out. Her hand moved to her head and felt a line of buttons under her fingers- _Jamie’s jacket_. She smiled to herself as she stretched her limbs, opening the other eye to see streaks of purple and orange painting the sky, and a tall figure with a glow of red hair coming towards her.

“Good morning, Sassenach.” His voice was shy as he held out a water canteen and passed a bannock to her.

She gently took it with a small smile, nodding as she patted down the bird’s nest of curls atop her head. He set himself close to her but stopped just short of grazing her side.

“Thank you for the pillow,” she said softly as she handed him back the bundle of leather. “I’m sorry I… fell asleep against you.”

“Ye looked sae peaceful, I couldna bear to wake ye,” he smiled as he grasped the jacket collar, their fingers touching once more. He reluctantly pulled his arm back, placing the jacket at his side and averting his eyes, focusing on the horizon as he took a bite of his bread.

Her eyes shifted to her hand, the touch of his finger still pulsing on her skin. Her breath quickened as she thought back to the night she discovered the secret- _Isis_.

He had kissed her, and although it caught her off guard, she had _enjoyed_ it- leaning in momentarily before they were interrupted.

Since then, they had both dodged the topic and focused on the dig, staying up late the night before studying the tablet and reviewing old clues… only to have fallen asleep in his arms. He seemed to read her face and take in her thoughts, and she caught a hint of red just at the tips of his ears.

“I beg pardon for the other night,” he started, looking down at his own hands- not meeting her eye. She caught the distinct twitch of his fingers against his bread as he sighed. “I shouldna kissed ye-”

“Claire!” Uncle Lamb’s voice shot through me like a bolt of lightning and I flinched as my eyes darted to him as he approached us. “It’s gone!”

“Uncle, slow down!” I tried to use my best calm voice as I continued, “ _What’s gone_?”

“The tablet! He took it- the bastard!” His hands were gesturing towards the west, his shoulders tense and then slumped as he dropped to his knees. “I can’t believe… the _bastard_ actually took it.”

She scanned the camp, seeing the usual line of tartan-clad MacKenzies and dust-stained Englishmen but suddenly realized the sole figure missing.

“ _Frank_.” Her British cadence cut through the early morning air. 

Jamie’s eyes darted to Claire, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Frank had seen them kiss, and must have seen them together the night before. Jamie was no fool- he could see the way Frank had looked at Claire- he recognized it because his eyes held the same longing, same flicker of hope. Claire had trusted Jamie enough to sleep next to him the night before, but he would not be so reckless with his feelings, or be so bold again as to take- or even ask- for more than was his right with her.

Her eyes met his and she shook her head slightly. It was an acknowledgement of the moments Frank had witnessed- the slights he felt he had received as Jamie effortlessly pulled Claire closer, effectively pushing Frank farther away.

She shook her head in an attempt to focus on the matter at hand, squaring her shoulders and crossing her arms in front of her.

Her eyes intent on him as she asked, “Jamie, do you think you could recite the text by memory?”

Her eyes were hopeful, despite her lack of conviction in her own abilities. She had spent the night reveling in his closeness, her mind wandering from the text to his hands as they rested on the ancient hieroglyphics.

 _She had been distracted_.

He blinked slowly, remembering the night before- catching moments of her face in the firelight, and the curls of her hair as they fluttered around her face.

 _He had lost focus_.

He shook his head, his voice deep with regret, “I’m afraid no’, lass.”

“Right.” Her voice was firm yet calm, carefully hiding the disappointment and rising panic she felt in her chest.

She turned to Uncle Lamb, “When was the last time anyone saw Frank, or the tablet?”

A flurry of activity followed as the combined camps sorted out last known sightings and contradicting directions as to which way he may have headed. It was settled that he likely would have headed south along the Nile towards Giza. From there, he could have bartered passage back to London.

A small contingency stayed behind- a combination of workers mixed in with Uncle Lamb and Ned- designated to mind the camp and keep order while Claire, Jamie, and Dougal set out in search of Frank.

____________

Dougal drove along the makeshift motorway, watching for the road markers against the desert sand. Claire and Jamie exchanged looks as they watched the speedometer climb, Dougal intent on the horizon. We had been lucky- wind gusts just south of our dig site had likely slowed any attempt at a quick exit to Giza.

The sun was just climbing high in the sky, and a ray of light caught a flicker of metal just ahead.

“That’s go’ to be him,” he said as he pressed the gas pedal, pushing them closer to the reflection in the distance. In a few short moments, Dougal had pulled up beside Frank’s vehicle and all but pushed him off the road as he swerved into Frank’s lane. Once stopped, Frank tossed his hat onto the passenger side seat and slowly opened his door, exiting the vehicle with apprehension.

Claire knew Frank avoided direct conflict, preferring to argue his way methodically through an argument versus any sort of physical altercation. She saw the wild look in Dougal’s eyes, and knew he had no intention of retrieving the tablet solely with words.

Frank’s shoulders were tense and she caught the hesitation in his step as he straightened his suit coat. His eyes shot to hers- shifting from her face to the tall, redheaded figure next to her, and then back again. His mouth turned into a snarl as his fists clenched.

Jamie caught his stare and moved to step in front of her as a shield, but paused as he felt her fingers pressed firmly into his arm.

Claire looked to Dougal- seeing his posture ready to strike, and shifted between the men- meeting Frank’s stare, keeping her voice as calm as possible. “Frank, please give us the tablet back.”

“I haven’t a clue as to what you might be referring, my _dear_ ,” his voice cut the distance between them like a knife, and Claire saw Dougal take a step forward with clear intent.

Jamie caught the movement as well, interjecting, “Frank- We dinna want any trouble. Just give us the tablet and ye can be on yer way.”

Frank stared to at Claire, his voice dripping with distain, “I see you’ve thrown your lot in with these… Scottish barbarians.”

Without another word, Dougal launched himself towards Frank. His hands grasped at Frank’s shoulders, pushing them both off the hardened sand of the road towards a dune. An arc of dust flew up as their feet scurried in the sand.

“Dougal, man- Stop!” Jamie’s voice rang through the air as he held his arm out in front of Claire, but Dougal and Frank were locked in a battle of wits, neither one blinking.

Dougal held Frank’s collar as he grunted and struggled to overpower him, his free hand striking a heavy blow to Frank’s chin- creating a sickening cracking sound. Frank’s lip was cut and fresh blood oozed out at the corner, his hand wiped his mouth as he looked back to Dougal.

A twisted smile spread across Frank’s face as he reached for the line of his belt. Frank propelled himself towards Dougal and the sun reflected a beam of light off the object in his hand. Dougal had misjudged the attack and raised both arms towards Frank’s shoulders, allowing the silver blade of Frank’s knife to slide into Dougal’s abdomen just below his ribcage- forcing a strangled scream from his lips.

“No!” Claire screamed as she stood helplessly, hands grasping Jamie’s arm as she watched Dougal stumble forward against Frank. The movement sent them both back a few paces, into a darker patch of sand, immediately sinking to his knees.

Claire froze as her eyes locked with Frank’s, the whites of his eyes stark against the blue of the sky and burning orange of the desert landscape.

 _Quick sand_.

Frank’s arms flailed about as he tried to climb free, gasping and screaming for help. Claire surveyed his surroundings, seeing the dark ring spread 3 meters in each direction. A final sweep of their available tools left her heart in her stomach as she stared helplessly at Frank as he sunk further still. He was panting with exhaustion as the ground swallowed him inch by inch.

Within a matter of moments he disappeared beneath the sand.

Dougal sputtered and gasped for air. His limbs convulsing before his body sagged and went limp, his eyes were wide and then suddenly slack and lifeless.

Then all was quiet.

Claire felt her body tremble; panic gave way to apathy as her mind went blank. Her hands were as cold as ice as they shook and her breathing waned.

 _Shock_.

She took two shallow breaths and then she felt large warm arms around her.

Jamie took her into his embrace and held her close. “A Dhia, yer as cold as ice.”

“Frank is _gone_.” Her voice felt detached from her body, and she breathed in the warmth and safety of Jamie’s form. “ _Dougal_ …”

“It’s alright lass.” His voice was calm and he took to whispering Gaelic in her ear to comfort her. “Yer alright.”

“Jamie-“Her voice was empty and cracked as she whispered his name. “…What do we do now?”

“The tablet- it’s likely in… the auto.” He paused before continuing, “There’s only one thing we can do or this is all for naught…we need to find the treasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the conclusion to this story, I hope you enjoy!

The journey back to the dig site had been quiet. Jamie gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other encompassed Claire’s hand completely as his thumb softly drew circles against her skin. Her eyes were unfocused as her mind replayed the dreadful scene just minutes before.

His eyes shifted to her face for a brief moment, seeing her lower lip firmly tucked between her teeth. “Are ye alright?”

“I just can’t be-” she paused, shaking her head. She cleared her throat, her eyebrows pulled together and chin dimpled as she struggled to compose herself. “I can’t believe they’re both… _gone_.”

“I’m sae sorry, lass.” His fingers tightened around her hand gently. His voice was calm, as if he was trying to sooth a timid creature from startling, “Dougal wasna such a good man… but he was a kinsman.”

Her eyes shifted to his face, seeing his mouth drawn in a hard line, lips pressed together. Dougal was family to him, the thought cut through her and she whispered, “I’m sorry Jamie.”

She hoped her words had resonated, and the squeeze of her hand was enough to quiet them both as they made their way back to the site. Her eyes drifted down to their fingers, still intertwined, and she felt a small wave of relief wash over her. Neither of them was alone in this. They had each other. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the hot air wash over her as she felt small circles continue against her skin.

__________

She caught the familiar silhouette of Uncle Lamb’s Panama hat as the auto pulled up next to the tent.

“Did you get the tablet?” He looked around anxiously. Seeing the empty seat, he asked, “Where’s Dougal… and Frank?”

“There was… an accident.” Her voice was detached, but steady. “ _They’re gone_.”

“Claire, why don’t you take the tablet and find Ned. He will likely want to analyze it wi’ ye.” He gave a gentle nod to the tent behind her and she turned without a word, holding the ancient slab to her chest.

Jamie turned back to Lamb, running one hand through his hair; his voice was low and filled with regret.

__________

“This text here- Shedet- refers to _Faiyum_ … we’re but a few kilometers from the Oasis.” Ned’s voice was a pitch too high, he was restraining his excitement as he looked out of the tent opening. “If we travel this evening we could reach it before the heat of the sun holds us hostage in the morning.”

“Shedet. Yes that’s what Jamie and I thought last night,” her voice shook but strengthened with each word. “I think we should pack camp, water the horses, and make way as soon as possible.”

Ned looked at her, a smile pulling across his lips. “I think we may be onto something.”

“I think…” she started, taking a deep sigh before continuing, “I think this may be _Hawara_.”

“The supposed underground labyrinth? That expedition was well over fifty years ago.” Ned’s eyes scanned the documents, one hand scratching the stubble on his chin. “… Not a one of them has been seen since.” His voice was steady but she heard the undercurrent of doubt.

“All the more reason I think this has to be the answer.” She felt her heartbeat quicken, her mind flashing to a newspaper clipping she’d seen back in London from years earlier. “One worker who claimed to be there- he spoke of a foreign statue, hidden doors, and chiseled passageways.”

He eyed her speculatively, shuffling the papers as he muttered to himself. “Aye, though they said he’d gone mad with dehydration- hallucinated… though I suppose…”

She squared her shoulders, as a firm edge of conviction filled her voice, “We need to move camp, _now_.”

His eyes met hers, nodding as he answered, “As ye say, Mistress Beauchamp.”

She smiled at the title; she had always been plain Claire Beauchamp to the Scots. This was a sign- he trusted her. Now she needed to prove she was worth of it.

__________

The road to Hawara was filled with anticipation.

Uncle Lamb and Ned had taken the auto in an effort to scout the site before the rest of the camp arrived. The number of ridable horses had dwindled with the heat.

Without a word, Jamie saddled his horse and reached for Claire. His hands were firm on her leg as she stepped into the saddle. In a move perfected by time, one foot slid into the stirrup as one hand grabbed the horse’s mane, and he shifted onto the horse’s back. He settled himself firmly against her. His hand deftly took the reins; strong arms pressed against her. His chest was solid against her back and his warmth encompassed her in the desert darkness. An aroma of worn leather, linen and sandalwood circled them.

Her hand found Jamie’s- a silent, unspoken understanding. His eyes did not waiver from the road, but his fingers laced within hers in a natural movement. Her heart leapt at the touch, the feeling of his skin against hers both invigorated and relaxed her. 

As they reached the site, she felt a grunt hum in his throat, his eyes lowering to their hands as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from her. She nodded slightly; a small smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes answered him.

_Time to find the treasure._

__________

Hidden in plain sight.

To an unassuming onlooker, it was just a sand dune, a temporary pile of sand that would be scattered with a gust of wind. But she knew better. The mound was expertly hidden amongst the landscape of rolling dunes and desert sand.

“Right.” She straightened the linen of her shirt as she nodded to the waiting men in front of her. This was _her_ dig. It was time to get to work. “According to the text, we should start on the west side, facing towards the sun as we dig.”

The workers set up the equipment and as the sun rose over the horizon she took a deep breath, her hands clutching the tablet close to her chest.

_A face foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes._

_Isis._

_Hamara._

_Ra._

This had to be the place.

With the equipment in place and workers sectioning out the area to dig, Claire hovered within a hair’s breadth of the mound.

“What are ye waitin’ for, Sassenach?” His voice was low, just loud enough for her to hear.

She turned to look at him, a look of peril hinted with excitement crossed over her face.

“So much research, so many dead ends. The endless debate about ancient clues and deceptions. But this…“ She pressed her hand against the mound. “This is _real_. This is _it_.”

“Aye. We wouldna found it wi’out ye,” a smile spread across his face as he continued. “This is _your_ treasure, Claire.”

A light rosy blush spread across her cheeks as she smiled. “ _Our_ treasure.”

__________

Early sunrise was creeping across the sky, a pale purple mixed with a warm orange, lighting the sand in a pool of glowing light that caught Claire’s eye. A small sliver of hard surface broke the stream of color, and she felt her heart race.

“Uncle!” She could barely breathe, her eyes locked on the hard object visible in the sea of sand. “I’ve found something!”

A flurry of excitement ensued. Workers focused on the narrow set of carved stone that came to resemble a steep staircase. A handful of steps formed and they found themselves staring at a large boulder. 

“I’ve seen this before. ‘Tis a bit difficult, but there’s a trick to gettin’ it to move,” Jamie’s words came fast, not waiting for Claire’s recognition before he knelt, his arm snaking into a small crevice between the staircase and the stone. After a few grunts, he exclaimed, “Got it!”

The boulder shifted just enough for Claire to make her way through the gap.

“Wait!” Jamie’s voice was filled with panic. He attempted to steady himself, adding, “I’ve go’ a torch, ye’ll be needin’ a bit o’ light down there.”

After securing the boulder and ensuring steady air flow to the chamber, Jamie moved quickly forward, searching for _her_.

__________

She stood in the silence, imagining the last souls to breathe in this chamber. Ancient Egyptians.

_Who were they? What secrets did they hold? Why did they find need to hide this place?_

She saw the light come towards her, his red hair glowing against the flame of the torch. The chamber was quiet, save the sound of his feet as they found her. They would find the secret together.

His hand found hers as their eyes met. She turned towards the darkness but she felt his hand squeeze hers and his arm stiffened, pulling her back to him. Their lips met in a soft, content kiss. As she opened her eyes she saw he was already looking at her, his blue eyes glowing in the firelight.

He nodded silently, his head gesturing towards the narrow hallway. Hand in hand, they navigated two corners and found themselves at a crossroads. The labyrinth of passageways unfolded in front of them, flickers of light reflecting off the walls.

“Which way, Sassenach?” His voice was slightly unsteady, and she caught the subtle attempt to clear it.

She turned to her right, pointing a long, slim finger towards the darkness. “East is this way, that’s towards Ra.”

Jamie blinked hard, his eyes focused on the ground. “Aye, we turned right then left again. If we go down this path, we should stay towards the sunrise.”

Each step was met with anticipation; their breaths were shallow as they took note of each turn and deviation from their desired direction. 

After taking a sharp right turn, Jamie paused, “Sassenach, are we goin’ uphill?”

“It’s hard to say, but yes… I think so.”

A loud snap cut through the air and they both froze, hands squeezing each other tightly. A slow hum intensified as the torchlight reflected off of a boulder rolling down the incline towards them.

“Jamie!” Claire’s voice echoed through the passageway as she grabbed his arm, pulling him into a small alcove against the wall. The stone narrowly passed them and Claire felt the cold, rough surface against her shoulder as it passed.

“Ye… ye saved me, Claire.” His voice was suspended in disbelief. In the darkness of the passageway, he had trusted her completely. Her embrace had saved him.

“Well I… I..” she paused, throwing a hand to the darkness as she stumbled, her voice a mix of exasperation and humor, “I don’t think I can bloody well do this alone, now can I?”

He laughed, the torchlight catching the hint of a smirk as he nodded. “Aye. Now lead the way.”

The next two turns lead them to an impasse- a wooden door.

“Best as I can tell, it’s a diversion. Wood would not be a truly sufficient barrier for a treasure room…” she trailed off, thinking.

“Aye- but it would be tempting enough for a treasure seeker.” His voice had a hint of humor in it as he tried for a wink.

The light from the torch caught a small inscription in the wood. She grabbed his hand, pulling both his arm and the torch towards the door.

“Isis. It’s faded and the wood is degraded… but I’d recognize it anywhere.”

He cocked his head as he asked, “Ye sure?”

Her eyes shot to his, matching his gaze. “Bet my life on it.”

He nodded, his eyes darting back to the marking. “Okay then, where to?”

Her eyes scanned the doorway, pausing as she looked to the wall. A cross with what looked like a loop at the top stared back at her.

“Ankh.”

_The symbol of life and immortality._

_Orisis. Isis. They flooded the Nile every year- giving it life._

_She had thought of Orisis and Set’s trickery that killed him- burying him in that very river._

_She had again overlooked Isis- a face foreign to Pharaoh’s eyes._

She had been distracted that night with Jamie. But perhaps this was all for a reason. Without Jamie, she would never have discovered Isis as the foreigner. Without working together, he would not have found the tablet.

Was she meant to unite with Jamie to find this place… _would they, too, make life together_?

She pressed her fingers into the hieroglyphic, cold and firm against her skin, and a false wall opened. Behind the door was a hidden chamber, and they came face to face with a circle of statues.

The glow of the torch lit a faint path on the ground, and as Jamie raised it, they both saw a symbol scrawled across the floor- encompassing the statues.

“Zaman.”

 _Time_.

His voice is low, almost a whisper as he steps closer into the ring. “The statue in the center…”

She nodded, matching the awe in his voice as she answered his question, “That symbol is a mix of Mustaqbal and almadi… _future and past_.”

_Past._

_Future._

_Immortality._

“Jamie, this isn’t ancient treasure.” She felt her heartbeat quicken and her breathing shallowed. “I think I know what happened to those archaeologists. I don’t think they died here… I think they _left_ here.”

Jamie nodded- a flicker of realization on his face. “The symbol Ankh means immortal life- but doesna note _when_ that life is.”

Her eyes scanned the circle of statues, her gaze resting on the figure at the center. “Is this… a portal of some kind?”

She felt his fingers graze her, softly but firmly grasping them.

Her senses dulled as a nauseating feeling crept under her skin. “Do you hear that buzzing sound?”

His voice cut through the sound and echoed in her ears, “Aye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
